


where dreams are made like comic strips

by chambers_none



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty-centric because she is the GLUE that holds them together, Canon Divergent, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Multi, OT3, Post-Episode: s01e01, Slow Build, unrequited Reggie Mantle/Betty Cooper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9499529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chambers_none/pseuds/chambers_none
Summary: They build a home out of each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look at the scene where Betty asks both of them out- tell me that isn't endgame.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come….”

She can’t do it. She is conscious of two things at once- Archie, taller than her, the hem of his jersey fluttering in the breeze, and Veronica, her million-watt smile directed at her. It’s warm, inescapable. They feel like polar opposites, in some way. Archie, a constant, fact; Ronnie, an emerging truth. Archie, the grit of Riverdale embodied; Ron, shiny from New York still. But complementary, too: Archie, the footballer; Ronnie, the cheerleader. Archie, an artist; Veronica, the art critic. She feels herself gravitate to both of them, simultaneously, and she isn’t sure how that fits into the laws of physics at all.

“.... with both of us.”

The reactions are immediate. “Huh?” “What?”

Blood rushes to her cheeks, and she feels exposed. Ten minutes ago this uniform felt like protection: a Kevlar in Riverdale blues. Now it feels too short, too thin. But Betty isn’t in the Model United Nations, and two-time Debate Club president for nothing. (She thinks.) “It’s your first dance at Riverdale,” she turns to Veronica, “you should have someone to go with. Even if it’s just a friend.”

Surprisingly enough, it works- she concedes.

Unsurprisingly enough, Archie doesn’t.

Betty feels her heart freeze, then plummet briefly: she plays with the sleeves of her uniform, and tries not to look at Archie. Her ears are ringing. She shouldn’t have done this, Ronnie shouldn’t have done this-

“Totally unacceptable, Archiekins. We need an escort,” and then, somehow, maybe there is a God up there somewhere, her best friend agrees to the semi-formal. With her. Well, with her and Veronica, but it’s all the same. Really.

(That her mother catches her dancing in her uniform later feels like dawn breaking. The war and ensuing stalemate, if not peace, she didn’t know she was looking for. She feels liberated, like she’s transcended her vessel and the polyester that contained it, and now Elizabeth Cooper is scattered into the wind. The anger is addictive, and she storms out with her head high.)

-

They walk into the gym, on opposite sides of Archie. She is painfully aware of his body warmth, the crinkle of his cheap tux under her fingers; she can’t detach herself, doesn’t know how Veronica does. The music’s pounding and maybe she shouldn’t judge, but even the tacky blown up banners of Jason can’t really distract her from being here. With Archie. 

Without Archie. She tries not to feel disappointment- they _were_ just going as friends after all, but it had been barely two ~~fucking~~ minutes and he’s gone, so she glances at her classmates awkwardly and hopes she doesn’t look too out of place. Kevin whisks by, and she can’t help the nervous laughter that threatens to break out a beat too late; he winks at her, then is gone again.

She stares round.

Ronnie is making eyes at someone, one of the jock types, and she finds herself smiling without meaning to. Ron is tiny, but tonight she’s wearing stilettos that would give her mother a shock (and then the resultant pills, and then a long diatribe about the dangers of hanging out with the highbrows). With them on she doesn’t seem as dwarfed by the guy she’s talking to, and Betty realizes that she’s been glaring at the floral pattern on Veronica’s dress, but also her jawline, and the curls of her hair-

Archie comes back, apologetic without ever truly being apologetic, in the way that only Archie Andrews can pull off. She tells him about being a power couple before she can wuss out again, and when he stops she does too. There is a dread rising, the kind that sounds like her mother, and she fights it back like she fights bile down everyday, and she finds- she needs- distance, so she steps back and finds herself heading towards Veronica. There’s a hug, and Kevin comes to wrap an arm around her briefly but she shoos him away (to Moose, but that’s something to think about later), so it’s just her and Ronnie and the smell of Chanel No. 2. 

Later, one of Cheryl’s minions- Bianca, her name was- approaches her to attend the afterparty at the Chez Blossom, she looks her in the eye as she agrees.

-

The bottle spins. Betty’s head spins.

-

The minutes are ticking by, and still there isn’t sign of anyone coming out of the closet (ha). Carefully, she peels herself from the couch, and pretends that no one is staring at her as she folds the cardigan over her arms and sets off. There is that familiar pricking sensation again, behind her eyes, but she manages not to cry until she’s back home, surrounded by the walls of her room. Pink isn’t even her favourite colour, it’s her mother’s, but the pastels tonight are soothing and she lets herself drift. Later, when she has to talk to Archie, she’ll see only this in her head- the ceiling, the tulle curtains, the sanctuary she’s built.


	2. Chapter 2

She wakes up to an alarm, then is sobered up by a text: it’s from Archie, an audio file. She stares at it, hesitant and still morning-dazed, for too long- the screen fades to black again and she has to click on the home screen button so she can scrutinise the notification. She doesn’t want to click it; she didn’t think of turning off the “Read” notifications, and she doesn’t want to bluetick him- but then her second alarm occupies the whole screen and quickly swipes to turn it off. She lies back down, blinking fast at her ceiling, phone clutched to her chest, and it continues to ping with notifications, this time from other social media, probably.

She can only imagine.

After an eternity Betty puts her phone aside and gets up to dress. If she’s not down in precisely half an hour Alice will worry about her not eating enough, and she doesn’t need more interaction with her mother than necessary. The clothes she chooses are stategic, precise: they’re not out of the ordinary. There will be no sweatpants, or there will be hell, and evidence that last night ruined her. So she applies a nude lipstick, sweeps blush on her cheeks, and descends the stairs like she does with everything in her life: carefully.

-

At breakfast she finds out the news: absentmindedly she thinks of the larger-than-normal social media traffic she had looked at, but not really paid attention to. The Coopers rush to pack their respective briefcases and backpacks in the station wagon, even though no one is probably going to be able to pay attention at work or school today. It takes fifteen minutes to arrive at Sweetwater River: by then, it seems like half the town has turned up to peek at the crime scene, and Betty spots Archie and Veronica. God, Veronica- she can’t even begin to think. (She hadn’t really blamed Ron last night, barely spared a thought for the Lodge girl- and when had she started thinking like her mother? But last night she had dwelled on her best friend, and it seems this morning her reckoning, like Cheryl’s, will be the newcomer.) 

“Betty.”

She can’t move past the Lodges, not with Mrs Lodge’s curious stare and Veronica gripping her arm like that. She stops short, mutters something about it not being the time, and manages to wriggle out of her grasp before Alice can look this way.

“Betty!”

Didn’t she acquiese, just now? Can’t they handle this later? Already her mother is turned to the sound of Veronica’s voice, and Betty finds herself digging her nails into her palms, testing yesterday’s scabs. “Not now, Veronica,” and she doesn’t sound like herself, but Betty doesn’t care. Veronica doesn’t, either- she steps forward boldly, because she does every thing so (fucking) boldly, and places a hand on her shoulder. Somehow, that is more paralyzing than her grip prior. 

Veronica’s voice is soft in her ear. “We’ll speak properly later, I promise, but you have to let me apologise. Even briefly, for now. I’m sorry Betty, I am, you know- you know it didn’t- it wasn’t-” 

“You’ll see each other at school, Veronica. Betty, come; you’re going to be late.” 

For the first time in ages, Alice isn’t the one making her angry. If anything, she’s offering refuge. So she goes.

-

The car ride is a short reprieve. The bustle of daily life is heightened by the drama of Jason’s corpse: there is a palpable tension in the hallways today. The crowd is louder, rowdier; people are on edge, snappy. She finds herself slamming her locker door; in English Ms Myers snaps the chalk in half by accident; Josie nearly drops her guitar in the middle of the entire music class. Kevin, more than anyone else, is unhinged: he chugs soda, and Kevin hates anything carbonated. 

After lunch, she sees Archie in the crowd, and manages to evade him, but in doing so she runs into Veronica instead. Literally; she scuffs the brunette’s oxfords when she steps on them, and she freaks out for a moment (they probably cost more than her entire wardrobe), when Veronica manuevres her into a corner and the ensuing anxiety drowns out what seems like a paltry concern. “We’ll be late for class,” she hisses, but Veronica shrugs a shoulder. “The town just found out it’s built on shadows and secrets today. They’ll be so busy trying to deal with that they’ll overlook a late attendance today. If you’re really worried about being late, just- attribute it, to feeling queasy about the news about Jason, or something.”

“I’m not- this isn’t a valid excuse for being late to class.”

“Look, Bets, we need to talk. Really. Please, let me apologise and make it up to you. You’re- you’re my first friend here, and you were so good to me: don’t let my stupidity ruin all of that.”

There is a searching pause, and Betty feels herself crumble, just a little. Veronica, for all her pearls and perfectly pressed Dorothy Perkins, is just that bit lost behind her eyes, and the split-second of naked vulnerability she catches is enough to sway her. 

“I- Okay. Where?”

The crowd in the hallway is thinning out, but it’s still dense enough that slipping away with Veronica’s pianist fingers wrapped around her wrist (her pulse) won’t go unnoticed. They walk with a purpose, Veronica from years of experience of knowing how to manipulate, Betty from reading it somewhere online, so no one stops them. The field, at this time, is empty: nobody has practice this early on Tuesdays, not with such precarious weather, and so Ron steers them to the bleachers. The wind is picking up. With no one in sight, it feels like a ghost town, the prelude to a tragedy or a great romance.

They stare at each other for a few tense seconds, no one sure who is meant to yield. Betty is- not on the edge of the seat, not literally, but her knees are pressed together so tightly it aches. In the end it is Veronica who breaks, because of course, she is the one on trial here.

“Betty- I was trying to protect you. I was. You know that if I hadn’t gone, Cheryl would’ve-”

Her voice is unrecognizable, a hiss. “So you kissed him instead?”

“No-”

“Why would you mislead me like that? Spend the whole day being gracious and bowing out in front of me and Kevin, then- then turning on me so fast, I was so confident you wouldn’t Ron, I was counting on you not to!” She ends on a half-shout, but the wind steals it away. She doesn’t care. She is furious, her eyes burning. “I trusted you, I really did!” 

For a while there, she thinks of just yesterday (and God, did it feel like a different lifetime then) when she promised her mother that the Lodge girl wasn’t going to be a problem. Veronica shakes her head, pleading, her hand reaching out to hover on top of Betty’s.

“It was a mistake- I know that. I know intention, act, and impact, are very different things, but Betty… You have to forgive me. You know how Archie can draw you in.” Her voice is small, soft, shamed: “I’m human.”

And Betty hates her for it, but she does understand. She hates herself for the same thing too, ever since Archie had drawn back last night, even as his hands had remained circled around her waist in the gym. There’s still some part of her that is bitter, that wants to be irrational- she nudges it aside as forcefully as she can, clamps down on the notion of forgiving and accepting. She can’t look at Veronica as she says it, not yet, but in the end: “Okay. Let’s- let’s forget about it.”

“You sure?” Veronica’s voice is reproachful, still unsure. Betty shakes her head, then stops: it doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t, not in the grand scheme of things. She has to think of the big picture.

She turns her hand so her palm is facing up, clasping Veronica’s. She squeezes once, then again. “Don’t worry about it. We should go, we’re going to be late.”

-

The rest of the day passes them in a quiet, tentative silence. It feels like their first time meeting again, neither one too keen on testing the waters, instead watching from afar. Kevin stares at them searchingly during lunch, but he doesn’t probe, the dark circles under his eyes preventing him from doing so. Archie nearly sits with them, but Veronica stares sharply and he backs off, embarassment and apology colouring his face for a brief moment before he wanders off to sit with Reggie. She probably thinks Betty doesn’t notice, but of course Betty does.

“Hey,” she nudges her, “come over to my place later. We can paint our nails, watch a chick flick….”

“Get our homework done?”

“Oh, come on, it’s only the second day, Hermione Granger.”

She laughs: it is just playful and this side of flirtatious, and it feels natural as anything. Her apple is almost too sweet; she caves as she bites into it, nodding, trying not to laugh. When the bell rings, she doesn’t want to look away.

-

The Pembrooke townhouse is- well.

Her mother’s right, for one; the Lodges are certainly from a different world.

Betty can barely hide her exclamation when Smithers had met them at the door; she tries really hard not to gape at the amount of marble that furnishes the place; but by the time they reach Veronica’s room (if one can call it that, it seems too… plebian, a word, for such a space) Betty’s self-control had pretty much been used up, and she has to physically cover her mouth to stop from being so rude.

Veronica falls back on her bed dramatically, and then smirks up at her from where she’s cocooned in a heap of pillows. There is something intensely feline about the act. “Welcome to my boudoir,” she declares, waving an arm to indicate the general area. 

The blonde sits gingerly on the edge of her bed, unsure of how to proceed, where she stands exactly. Veronica huffs, and grabs her wrist so she tumbles backwards: she ends up separated from her- friend?- only by a single pillow and they look at each other, giggling. The moment stretches on, and is not lost exactly, but then they are quiet and Betty is really, really uncertain. It’s a staring contest, only the prize has no name. 

“If you want ice cream, I’ll call for Smithers,” Ron says quietly, abruptly.

Betty startles, then changes that into a nod. “Uh, sure- you sure? We can always get it ourselves, you know. I don’t mind getting it for both of us actually.”

Veronica shrugs, then turns to look at the ceiling. “That’s fine. We can stay here too.”

They lie in quiet, and Betty doesn’t know what to say or what she’s meant to say, so the minutes spread out in front of them. Eventually she turns over, props her head up on her elbows, and asks, “What movies do you have?”

-

They end up watching The Breakfast Club, and not painting their nails. Instead, Ron braids her hair, a complicated fishtail shindig that she tries to sit still for as long as possible. Unfortunately, that means it’s finished pretty fast- which is unfortunate, considering how much Betty loves the feeling of someone playing with her hair. She tries not to sigh too loudly, and Ronnie doesn’t seems to take notice, so she considers that a win.

When Brian completes the essay, Ronnie turns to Betty simply and tells her, “I don’t expect you to completely forgive us- even me. But give Archie a chance. I’m not saying he deserves it, neither of us do, but. You’re better than us, so I’m appealing to you, to that, Bets.”

She stays silent until Claire gives Bender one of her earrings. “I will. I hate it, but I know I will some day. I’m just not sure when. Please, don’t push me any further.” 

Ron reaches over and clasps her hand at that. “That’s fine.” 

Almost like an afterthought, Ron presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

-

Later, at home, she locks the door and plays the audio file.


	3. Chapter 3

Archie’s spent his whole life trying to look for something that could let him settle in his skin. Betty and Jug helped, sure, when they were kids on missions and rescues and adventures to far away lands, but it hasn’t been like that since even before last summer, and when he discovers music it’s a heady rush. He can’t put it in words, exactly, the feeling of finding the right chord, the right lyric: it’s invigorating and terrible (because what if one day this ability is snatched out from right under him? Or if he sucks, and people will only remember that of him?) and perfect. He hates that he has to spend time with Geraldine for his music when they’ve never been further apart, but he can deal. The music was what mattered, after all.

But when he breaks Betty’s heart, he might as well have broken his own.

He’s not sure what to do, what he can do. His apologies always seem to fall flat, and if he has to see her cry again, he’ll go berserk: it wasn’t a cliche, how he could never live up to her. She’s always been a distant ideal, and then that distance had only increased when he decided to taint himself further with what happened over the summer.

The lyrics hit him hard and fast, and he spends all night plucking the strings of his guitar. Absentmindedly, he thinks it doesn’t matter if she never listened to this song, this mishmash of an apology and a confession and a release, because he’s never had her and he never will. Betty Cooper, the girl-next-door, isn’t for someone like him to take. “You’re more dangerous than you look,” Veronica had said, and he had immediately thought to substitute dangerous for unworthy. He doesn’t understand why anybody places him on a pedestal- his father, Jughead, now the school since he’s made the team. He doesn’t deserve it. 

When he’s finally finished constructing something half-decent, it’s five a.m, the sky breaking up into colours outside. He hits record on his phone.

-

Betty spends the entire night, and the next morning, feeling feverish. She’s had crushes before, and she still loves Archie, but nothing ever like this. Her skin is buzzing and yet feels too tight; the red in her cheeks won’t go away; she has to keep drinking water, or her throat feels constantly parched. 

She waits until the next morning to text Veronica. Her _Archie sent me a song!!!_ , followed by a string of emojis, is replied within the minute. 

_LET ME HEAR IT_ , and this is where Betty pauses, because this feels so private, so fragile. It’s not her song, anyway, doesn’t know whether Arch would let her share it like this.

She ignores the text, heads to school.

That of course, earns her the wrath of one Veronica Lodge, even as she’s holding a box of cupcakes- which turned out to be flown in from New York. “I never got to apologise properly,” she shrugs a shoulder, then in the next breath arches an eyebrow and delivers her righteous anger impressively. “You didn’t reply my text, Betty Cooper, how could you?”

“You don’t need to get me cupcakes, V,” then, “I- I can’t. I know, I’m sorry, but this is Archie’s song. I guess- I could sing you one or two lyrics?”

“Yes,” and here Veronica’s pulling on her arm again, clinging to it like they’ve had all their lives to be this tactile and comfortable with each other, steering her into the main hallway. “But during lunch. I have English now, I’m proud of my essay and I can’t wait to hand it in, and you have AP History anyway, I’ll see you later!”

She waves her off and Betty ends up dazed, and with a box of- really good- cupcakes.

-

AP History seats her right next to Reggie, for some reason. It’s a small class, and while she recognizes all of her classmates (it’s Riverdale, you know everyone living there by the time you’re eight) he’s the only one she’s had more than hi-bye interactions with. A long time ago, anyway. Back when only Moose could dominate the playground, and Reggie’s mum made him some kway teow everyone shrieked and covered their noses at, Betty had been there for him when no one was. That had disappeared by middle school, of course, when Reggie discovered hair gel and shot up just that little bit faster, and especially since Jughead was never fond of him and never ever let him join their secret missions, but with a song in her pocket and cupcakes in hand, Betty feels like taking a stab in the dark.

“Cooper.” He’s surprised, she can tell, even as he masks it almost immediately.

“Hey, Reggie,” and she smiles at him quiet, and remembers when he wore glasses and on the days where the bullying got really bad, people liked to confuse him with Dilton.

“I didn’t know you were taking AP History-” “I didn’t know you took History-” They break off, laughing at each other. Mr Adams calls everyone to attention then, clearing his throat and writing his name on the board.

“I understand many of you are enthused with this subject- I’ve spoken to some of your teachers as you filed to take AP this year, and I’m glad to hear that. That being said, AP History will, as other AP classes be, gruelling and test your limits….”

-

Veronica fingers the two Chez Salon gift certificates in her handbag. She wonders if she should introduce them now, but Kevin had gotten excited over it, and while that’s reassuring, she figures Betty would be overwhelmed. So she tucks them back in, thinking of what other gifts she can get, and how to spread them over the week so Betty won’t really notice what she’s doing. 

-

“Okay,” Veronica claps her hands at lunch, “now sing for me, Betty.” 

It’s the three of them at lunch, Archie nowhere to be found, and even Kevin is leaning forward, a smirk on his face. “Come on Elizabeth Cooper, show us what you’ve got.”

She shoots him an annoyed look, parses the song in her head, unsure where to start, what to sing. “Okay. Uh. Here goes.”

_“Blonde hair, blue eyes, she looks just like a princess but don’t ever let her tell you she’s mine… She’s in an ivory tower, I’m the one that needs saving.”_

There’s a long pause. Then Kevin whoops, once, and rushes round to hug her. “I don’t know what to say, babe, it’s so-”

“Ambiguous? But there’s just so much tension,” and here Veronica raises that one perfect eyebrow. She leans in, expectation on her face, “you must do something Betty, you must.”

“But- but what can I-”

“Do you hear yourself? You’re holding an _invitation_ to pursue him. Or something. What, do you need it written in gold?”

“No, you don’t get it- that’s. That’s not how we work. Arch is my best friend, he always will be, but you weren’t there that night-” and here is where Betty is quiet again, something catching in her throat. Her eyes feel suspiciously wet, her face too warm for her liking. She takes a deep breath, tries to steady her voice. “Look. Archie- he loves me too. He does, and I’ve always known that, but in his own way. He doesn’t- not like that.”

Veronica’s eyes flash pity and then they’re gone, and Betty is glad. She doesn’t need pity. She leans forward, puts her head on her elbows, “if you say so. I mean- I’ll let it go. For now.”

-

Cheerleading practice is heady. It feels like something should happen, something explosive, but the most that happens is that Cheryl walks by a little too close for comfort, so Ronnie links their arms together and heads them off determinedly to the water cooler.

-

Every walk with Veronica feels like it could lead to something big, something momentous. There’s always something unsaid in the air, like the brunette’s just waiting for her to discover the truth about something so she can turn around to conspire, eyes wide, and place a perfectly manicured hand on her arm. Because that’s what they seem to deal in, the Lodges- conspiracies, and dark secrets, and it’s a world of shadows that Betty wants to follow in. She’s always had a world of light, and that’s been nice, but people forget that the sun can be blinding.

They’re on their way to Pop’s, and the weather is nice enough (and they’re both without a car enough) that walking is a good option. Kevin is somewhere else, and she hadn’t managed to catch Archie yet, so Ron had declared a desire for milkshakes and that had been that. 

“You know, I used to tutor Archie in the second grade.”

“Really?”

“We’ve been next-door neighbours since we were four- he was literally the boy next door. I had a crush on him even then, Ron, even though he’s not… well, he was no football star then. But he was always Archie, you know? So sweet, so well-intentioned. 

We were always in the same school, the same class, and my mum didn’t have reason to dislike him when he was just this little blob of a boy with the most ginger hair you could imagine, so we played together all the time. Oh, Jughead was there too, but when it was the two of us, it always felt like it was part of a bigger picture. Like we were on a train that was heading to the rest of our lives. And he was having trouble reading, so Ms. Gribrock, our teacher, told the Andrews that he should stay back a year to get caught up. I overheard, and Arch told me later, of course, but I hated the idea so much, I just- I didn’t want to give him up. So I tutored him every single day.”

“And you were only in the second grade?”

“Yeah. When he passed, he kissed me, and he asked me to marry him, and I wanted to, but I knew even at the tender age of eight I needed to be rational. So I said, “Oh little Archie, we’re too young. Ask me when we’re eighteen and I’ll say yes.” And it feels like I’m always waiting for that day, when we’re eighteen.”

Ron turns to look at her, a genuine sense of wonderment on her face. “Wow.” She raises her brows, and then reaches to clasp Betty’s hand. “Don’t despair, little Betty. I don’t think your story with Archie is over, even if you think he doesn’t love you like that.”

-

The problem with Archie is that he doesn’t quite know what he’s got. Jughead once adored his best friend, and he probably still does, but he never had to lose a home, never had to lose anything, period, and now he’s going to lose Betty and Veronica both if he’s not careful. He squints at Grundy, at the way they’re holding each other. He’s never understood physical intimacy, but he understands what he’s looking at, all right. For a moment, he wants to knock on the door, let them know the jig is up.

His heart is still thudding a little too loudly when he withdraws back from the glass. Technically, Archie’d already lost him, and there are plenty of days he doesn’t struggle with this, but. There’s always that one day when the booth gets too lonely and a sarcastic comment goes unheard and his schedule doesn’t involve heading down Chadwick Lane. His fingers curl automatically into a fist, and for a moment Jughead just wants to scream, and punch something.

But that’s what his father’s for. It’s not what he does.

So he paces relentlessly, then makes a plan to stop by the Andrews’ later. It’d be impossible to miss Archie then; even between the newfound music career a la Justin Bieber, and the varsity football, he still has to go home. It’s pathetic, but an ambush is the only way he can meet with his former best friend now. 

_It’s for a good cause_ , he tells himself. Saving Archie. Because that’s what he’d always does, and what it seems he will always have to keep doing.

-

The fight is quick, because it’s Reggie Mantle, all 6”4 of him. Time is syrupy right before the punch lands, and Archie thinks briefly, _it’s worth it, it’s all worth it, for you Jug I’d fight-_

-

“I saw you and Cheryl. Not many girls would’ve done what you did.”

“Full disclosure: I’ve had my share of emotional breakdowns.” Veronica looks up at Betty, and wonders if she notices that she’s framed in a halo of light. It’s become increasingly clear that this is who Betty is, and sometimes she wonder who she’s kidding, trying to be better, trying to match Betty Cooper; it’s only too easy to Google and see the full brunt of what it means to be a Lodge in this day and age. She’s lost everything, and now she has to build herself up from scratch, and she still can’t figure out if aspiring towards what Betty is will cement her or mess up her foundations. There are just some things you can’t get past, after all.  


“If you’re not doing anything, do you wanna get a milkshake at Pop’s?”

“Another one?” she laughs. “Betty, I’d love that.”

They get their usual orders, a double chocolate and an old-fashioned vanilla, and smile at each other from behind the rims of their glasses. In this moment, she could tell the blonde anything, all her secrets, lets her feel like she could even ask Betty for things (but what can you give someone who already has everything? And then lost it all?), but the bell dings, and it’s Archie and someone she finds out is Jughead. A pair, if you ever saw one: she doesn’t know why they don’t hang out more often. With all four of them in the booth, the seats are warm and cozy, and everything feels like it’s slotting into place. The night stretches on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still trying to figure this piece out- sorry for the late update, guys! I had a midterm this week and fell sick :-( but you can throw me some fic requests/suggestions at isca-riot.tumblr.com/ask
> 
> This fic definitely combines elements from the show, so it'll be _sorta_ canon-compliant; but it will definitely diverge at points too, to develop the characters, to develop the pairings, et cetera. What this'll mean is that some scenes will be explored in-depth, some will be of my own making, and some taken out entirely. 
> 
> 1\. Yes, Jughead is still asexual in this fic, and it'll still be Archie/Betty/Veronica as endgame, but a bit of Archie/Jug on the side wouldn't hurt (let me live out my dreams)
> 
> 2\. Reggie Mantle is secretly a geek. End of.
> 
> 3\. There will be an attempt to follow the show for the sake of _some_ plot, but don't expect much of Grundy/Cheryl/the general shenanigans outside of what I'll be using to build on the endgame.


	4. Chapter 4

“Archie-”

“Hey.”

He stares at her, looks at her like he hadn’t seen the same face everyday since he was four, even during that one time when he got the mumps. He doesn’t know what to do, but it’s so tense now, the space between them; Jughead and Veronica were getting acquainted up ahead, but it’s late enough that he knows Betty’s mom will start to ask, and he’s got to say something, do something quick before she has to go and he’s left like this again. 

So he takes a step forward, but Bets is moving towards to him too, and he doesn’t know who reaches for the other first. It’s a hug like no other: she is warm and sweet, and not his, never his. He breathes in, tries to savour this feeling of Betty in his arms, and all at once it seems like something inside him is thawing, and he is flooding and drowning-

“I’ve missed you. So much. I- I loved the song too, you know,” she whispers into his neck and he can’t stop the grin on his face, he’s this close to a victory fist pump. 

She leans back, but a thrill runs through him when she still keeps on holding his waist, “I’m sorry it took so long, but I needed time to process. The song is beautiful, and that definitely kept me away for a bit, but. I needed to separate what my mom wants from what I want. What I think I want, at least.”

Archie smiles at her, his best friend, his accomplice, his confidant, his heart, and knows what it means to be radiant. To be filled with radiance, at least; and here, in the grimy parking lot outside of Pop’s, well, it’s a good setting. “Which is?” But he knows the answer already, and it must read on his face, because Betty rolls her eyes and wrinkles her nose the way she always does when she’s caught wind of his antics.

“I still want us to be friends. Best friends. Even if you don’t like me like that-”

But he does, and she still doesn’t get it, but he’s tired of explaining and he doesn’t want to break her again. He grabs her hand, then pulls her close. “Hey. It’s okay, I get it. God, Bets, I’ve missed you. It felt so right, to be sitting inside with you and Jug and V, and even though we hadn’t talked it out before then, it felt like we did you know? I’m just so happy that you’re here.”

He doesn’t say anything about how he wanted to reach out, to hold her hand, but he doesn’t say a lot of things, these days. That’s what the songs were for. And sure, part of his heart is still with Geraldine, but where she’s eviscerated it, played it like one of her cello strings, with Betty his heart has always been whole and safe. They stay in their embrace a few more moments, and he doesn’t count them, just closes his eyes and lets himself feel.

“Okay. Come on, let’s get us home.”

-

_I think we’re in a good place now_ , she texts Veronica. 

_of course u are B, I saw that hug._

_I mean it. I think things are going to get better. Not just for me and him, but for all of us. The time we just spent, all four of us, that felt right._

__

Veronica stares at her screen, unable to reply, unsure of what to even if she could. She feels dangerously close to crying, because she’s never had this, never had whatever small town wholesomeness had to offer. Then,

_I’m glad you came to Riverdale._

_Im glad too_ , and if she’s biting too hard on her lip, no one will ever know.

Veronica puts her phone under her pillow, turns off the light, and tries to sleep.

-  


Betty wakes up to an argument downstairs, which is odd, because the voices sound feminine. For a moment, her heart is in her chest and she thinks of Polly, but the haze in her mind clears and reality stabs her: it can’t be Polly, her mother would never allow that.

She comes downstairs in a hurry anyway, curious.

“I hope you don’t mind, Betty, I took the liberty of arranging these flowers. The yellow is for friendship.”

“Mind?” Her mother makes a strangled sound. “You broke into our house to- to deliver these?”

At this, Veronica shrugs and waves a hand airily, and Betty doesn’t know what’s more odd, the thought of Ron being a morning person or the thought of her breaking and entering to deliver some flowers. “Hal let me in, as he was fetching the newspaper. I simply wanted to show Betty how important she was to me.”

“This family is not in the business of bribery,” Alice hisses, “even if yours might be. We’re not to be solicited.”

Faintly, Betty thinks she’s far too underdressed to be witnessing a face-off between her mother and Veronica Lodge. “I understand that, Mrs Cooper. That’s why I’m interested in campaigning for your approval as well. You have to understand, Betty’s a good influence. And I want to be good. Also, I thought you might like these hers-and-hers mani pedi vouchers. Chez Salon. They’re not too expensive, so it’s not a ludicrous offer, and it’s a pity for them to go to waste, since Betty isn’t interested in the state of her nail beds and I got mine done last week. 

While Hal let me in I also made breakfast. Well, Smithers helped me make it, but anyway. It’s all plant-based, since I wasn’t sure if anyone here would have allergies, and anyway that’s much healthier. Come on down Bets, you’re going to be late for school.”

Hell, Betty think she’s far too underdressed to be witnessing a face-off between her mother and Veronica Lodge, where _Veronica would win_. She rushes down before the begrudging approval on her mother’s face can be shoved back down, and wouldn’t you know it?

The pancakes are delicious.

-

“Okay, talk.”  


Veronica snorts, if a Lodge could snort. “What do you want to know?”

“How’d you know exactly what to do? Oh, hey Archie-”

“Ronnie? What are you doing in our neighbourhood this early in the morning?”

“She broke into my house to deliver flowers and breakfast. And, I think she got my mother to like her. Well, like is a relative word. I think- I think my mother admires you.”

“Wait, what?” And Ron laughs this time, raises her hands.

“What can I say? I’m a Lodge. You learn things, growing up, watching New York.”

“Okay, tell me everything,” and they fill Archie in, cutting each other off, giggling as they rush to interject and exaggerate their perspectives. 

Veronica does a twirl when they reach the end of the story, elegant and smug as ever. “All I’m saying is, your mother has a dominant personality- takes one to know one- and for our kind, it’s hard to bow down to anything less. You have to face it, head on. And yeah, maybe it was a risk, but I was honest and genuine, and she could read that.”

“Also, the pancakes were really good. Us Coopers pride ourselves on our domestic abilities, you know, and-”

“Which is why I provided breakfast. The gifts were important too. They all mean something, and I had to appeal to your mom’s senses.”

Archie pauses. “This is way too deep for me.”

“Agreed.”

“Ah, small town folk. You do have your charm.” 

And at this, Archie and Betty know to tackle the rich kid together, and it’s a Wednesday morning, and walks to school have never been better.

-

Class is hard, tense: it feels like with every curt response and refusal to meet his eyes, Betty’s stabbing him with a thousand little pinpricks. Because she doesn’t do pointed glances; she does clipped suggestions to their mandated discussion. She doesn’t do cold shoulders; she does complete civility. But Reggie can feel her barely refraining from total rudeness, and he doesn’t know why. Here he’d thought- he’d have a chance again, with the girl from third grade-

“Why?”

“W-what?” Betty is startled. “Class is over, Reggie.”

Reggie. Not Reg. 

“You’re being really quiet. Did I do something to you?” _Of course you did something to her, you prat, you left her in middle school when you thought you got too good for Betty_ , he thinks.

“Reggie, did you not think I would completely ignore you punching Archie?”

Because it’s Archie fucking Andrews. Of course. “I’m- we apologised-”

“Weatherbee made you apologise, you mean. Look, forget it Reggie. I’m going to be late for class.”

So he watches her go, and wonders this is how she saw him leave.

-

Veronica doesn’t know why she agrees: but in the end, she’s left with a giddy rush of satisfaction. It’s not like her to be this careless, but ever since the scandal broke she hadn’t been on a date, and Chuck seems like she could let loose for a night. She waits till she can’t see the last of his varsity jacket, and then pulls up his name on Google, Instagram, Twitter, Facebook. Veronica Lodge is nothing if not an informed consumer.

-

“Just when I thought this’d be a normal school day,” Veronica purses her lips, stares at the crowd that’s formed outside class. 

Jughead overhears her comment as he’s passing by, bites back laughter. “This is Riverdale. Lately, there’s no such thing as normal.” 

“I don’t know, I mean- we came to this small town to escape the drama. And it turns out Cheryl’s guilty? Wait, where are you going?” and at this Betty tugs her friend back, and they both watch Jughead melt into the crowd.

“Look, V, there are some things you should know.”

“That sounds ominous. Come on, spill.”

And so Betty tells her the whole sad story, the fight between Archie and Jughead, and how last night was a stroke of luck, a fluke, anything but something to depend on. The legendary duo, now split, now shattered, and how no one knows what happened exactly. Just that one day Riverdale woke up to a great rift, and decay in the space between. 

Veronica listens with a dawning sadness. This town is- not her home, exactly, but it could be. It’s growing to be. To hear of petty fights (well, that’s harsh of her, Jughead and Archie don’t seem like the kind to have petty fights) tarnish this place like it did in the Upper East side makes her ache: and she thinks about what it’d be like if she had grown up here. If she had let Riverdale tame her edges from the beginning, mellow her out with the taste of double-chocolate milkshakes and the sound of the film reel shuttering at drive-ins and a constant, uncomplicated cast of friends. She goes home with this in her head, a near obsessive replaying of various scenarios: would she have been as snobby? Would she and Cheryl be fighting? Or equals? What terrible deeds could her daddy have avoided? (But this she knows is not a matter of situation, is a matter of her father’s personality, and no change in scenery could have helped that much. She buries this thought anyway.) When would she have ever grown up?

How would Archie have treated her? 

How would Betty have treated her?

The Pembrooke is silent when she reaches home, a mausoleum of privilege. Smithers is quick to mask his look of surprise at her early arrival, but she smiles tiredly at him; she just doesn’t feel like hanging out at Pop’s today and waiting for her mother to end her shift. Instead, she curls up on the chaise lounge, tries to lose herself in a deluge of social media notifications. A text from Chuck appears, and for a while that buoys her. But Veronica gets restless quickly, and so she starts to aggressively comb through Riverdale history. The earliest photos she can find of Archie and Betty and Kevin and Jughead are from fifth grade, maybe- their childhood is archived online only from then on. She looks at their faces, in sepia tones and then colour, and then in increasing HD, and finds herself still adrift, still full of questions.  
The front door unlocks, opens. It’s her mother.

“Mija- what are you doing up? Are you okay?” Because Hermione Lodge is nothing if astute, and Ronnie’s absence at Pop’s can be read like one of the classics she studied at college. 

Ron watches her cross the room, then shrugs back and settles deeper into the cushion. “Mom- can you tell me what it was like, growing up here?”

-

Betty feels like screaming. There is always white noise in her head, and it is loudest when Alice Cooper is in the vicinity. The ink bleeds on the page, and is seared into her retina: she steps back, shuddering, repulsed. “You have to stop sensationalizing this horrible thing.”

Her mother is unconcerned, the epitome of that line, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. She shoots back easily, and when she tosses an almost careless suggestion about Betty being Lois Lane, Betty thinks, why not? 

She’s always wanted to fix things. Cars, friendships; she can handle misreported scandal.

-

Betty checks the list, kindly provided by Weatherbee when she informed him what she wanted to do, of AP English students. Only one name sticks out to her.

_Juggy._

-

“A former It girl from New York, Madoff-like fall from grace? I thought you’d be high maintenance.”

Veronica finds herself flinching without meaning to, but she conceals it. She’d known there are some things you can’t get past, after all, and sweet as Chuck is, it’s not an unreasonable assumption. So she distracts him with almost inane talk about being the new kid, even as she finds herself admiring his features, absentmindedly daydreaming about a future together. There is no gripping desire, no heat to it of course, but it’s fun to daydream and she lets herself settle down in a future suburb with Chuck Clayton and their two kids. Or something. She’s never been big on children. She lets him sweet talk her, and then they get to making out, because Chuck’s got muscles for days, but his conversation is not the stuff of Oscar Wilde, or even Diablo Cody. And anyway, she’s missed this slip-slide of lips and warmth above her and-

Well, she doesn’t need to explain herself exactly.

-

“-neither a slut, nor does it matter if I was, nor am I going to be shamed by someone named, excuse me, Chuck Clayton.”

Betty watches the rage build on Ron’s face- she is a storm, she is law, she is out for blood. It scares her, makes her freeze even as she takes a sick pleasure in it, so she tries to offer suggestions, but Veronica is not having any of it. She has no idea what this is, what it means to want to go full dark no stars, but a lifetime of being taught to be meek makes her say nothing. She follows Ron into the locker room, past staring eyes and hostile curiosity, tries to be a presence at her friend’s side as she faces down Chuck. “You’re not allowed to go around humiliating girls for any reason, under any circumstances, you jerk!”

They are barked at, and a frisson of anger runs through Betty. She is sick, and tired, of feeling like a damsel in distress, so when the cool air hits them the moment they exit the locker room she heads to the Blue and Gold office. There are multiple ways to fight, and Veronica has claws all right, but she has her research.

It takes the better half of the day to ask around, secure the names she needs, before she can even begin to contact them. That’s fine; Betty’s always been patient. 

-

When Jughead visits the Boy Scouts, he wants to laugh. It’s an admirable notion, of course- and later, when he hears about how Dilton is a hardcore survivalist, he will feel a deep respect for the guy- but how they’re doing it is sad, almost. They have no idea how it is to actually live on nothing, what it means to survive. This rose-tinted version, with nature and plants and starting fires: it’s so far removed from reality he kind of wants to point it out, let them down gently.

He shakes it off. He isn’t here for this, he’s here for a story.

-

There are eight girls who are willing to be present for the meeting, and another three more that have agreed to have their statements recorded but won’t come forward physically. That’s fine by her: she understands why, and eight is a big enough number to convince Ron, hopefully. It’s a range of them: some the very trope of a “perfect victim”, desexed enough like Ethel to appeal to the respectability politics of Riverdale High; others, like Natasha, who won’t be taken seriously enough given their more worldly image. Betty hates that she has to lead off with the former, but she understands that this is the best way to win the case.

Then Cheryl barges in, and the white noise in Betty’s head reaches a fervent pitch. “In the meantime, River Vixen practice starts in five minutes, sluts-”

She finds herself raising her voice, and then Veronica is joining too, and their combined wrath feels like a power in its own right. Especially when Cheryl, clinging on still to the pedestal she put her dead brother on still, wants to argue against the existence of the playbook. Somewhere inside her still, Betty understands that rationale, wants to be gentle with the redhead, but she can’t. She can’t anymore. 

“You wanna get caught in the backdraft, Cheryl? Call me, or any of these beautiful, intelligent, strong women ‘slut’ one more time. It doesn’t matter if we’re sluts, if we like sex, because that’s perfectly fine, but _you_ don’t get to reduce us to just our sexual identities. And don’t give me bullshit about reclaiming the term. _We_ decide that. _We_ decide our multitudes.”

Then they find out from Trev Brown that the playbook is real, not just the stuff of urban legend- and. They can do this. They really can. Briefly Betty wonders if this is how Ron feels all the time, vindicated and riding this rush of adrenaline.

Of course, thinking of breaking into the school at night is different from actually doing it- even earlier, she’d barely manage to scrounge up enough black clothing- but Betty doesn’t want to stop. Scandal builds up in her again, and it is scary how close she is to tears, almost, except she’s not sad, just angry and frustrated. “Trev was right. They didn’t even bother to hide it.” Her throat constricts; she feels stiff. It feels like she’s watching the scene, rather than being in it: everyone sounds so far away, and Betty can’t seem to have full control over her limbs. She watches hauntedly as they read it out: nine points. Big girl. Seven point five. Six. Korean. Eight plus one point five. New girl.

Cheryl steps back. 

“Maybe I don’t know Jason,” she says, and Betty wants to snort, scoff loudly in her face. When someone brings up the idea of bringing it to Weatherbee, she thinks she knows what Veronica had meant earlier. 

“These girls deserve justice, don’t you think, Cheryl? You want vengeance? You wanna go full dark, no stars, Veronica? I’m with you. And I have a plan.”

-

“This is more you. Pink Perfection.”

Betty looks in the mirror, and wishes she could disagree.

-

It takes no effort at all to get Chuck to come over to Ethel’s, and even less when Ron opens the door to tell him that they’re interested in sharing. Like taking baby from a candy. But there’s no time for eavesdropping now; timing is important if they want to get this right. She returns to the mirror, tries to fix her lip, her wig. With the long, dark hair on she looks like Ron, if anyone could do Veronica better than Veronica did Veronica. It’s very Cleopatra, of course, none of the actual brunette’s curls, but she thinks she does okay.

She takes a deep breath, then pushes the handle open.

-

Veronica feels like she’s been hit by a sledgehammer. She is hyperconscious of how she sits up, leans toward Betty almost: her double now, except more exquisite in the way that Betty in rogue lips and dark silk can only be. Briefly she thinks about how she shouldn’t be reacting this way, and isn’t it a damn _cliche_ to be attracted to your best (?) friend? Not that she wasn’t aware of her own bisexuality, but those are waters too treacherous to wade in.

She feels the muscles in her groin clench a little, and makes herself turn around to look at Chuck.

They get to drinking, and that- that helps, really. Not that she’s aiming to get drunk, that would defeat the whole purpose of this operation, but she’s at least a little more prepared to handle the warmth of a Betty she cannot touch beside her. A frisson of fear runs through her when she sees the muscle relaxer, nerves that she forces herself to placate even as she thinks about the consequences of being found out like this.  


She looks at Betty, and worries even more. It’s not the girl she recognizes, and the uncertainty in itself scares her. She doesn’t want to be responsible for- for whatever Betty is going through. This isn’t completely healthy, probably. “Do you want to slow it down a little?”

The blonde- or well, brunette now- shrugs it off. “It’s fine. Right, Chuck?”

Honestly, Veronica could not give two shits about Chuck’s approval right now, or even completing the mission if it meant jeopardising Betty’s mental stability somehow. But watching Betty stand there, offer him drugged beverages- that makes her feel something else too. Not worry, definitely not that, but alight in more or less the same way. 

They kneel down together to handcuff Chuck when he’s sufficiently comatose, not touching but it feels like Betty wants to too. They are silent, save the jacuzzi bubbles. Betty looks at her steadily: she can feel the words that her friend, her partner in crime wants to say, but in the end Betty doesn’t do anything and Ron feels a crushing disappointment when she stands abruptly to change the water temperature. 

Whatever it is, Betty’s efficient. Veronica lets herself be lead, and her directions are clear, easy to follow. Maybe she’s meant to listen to Betty. Whatever. “Start recording,” and she does.

From here on now, she’s just going to have to look to Betty’s cues.

“Time to squeal, pig. Tell the truth about you and Veronica.”

There’s a stomach flip that, wow, is really unnecessary.

She honestly doesn’t know if it’s because she has someone looking out for her now, other than just her mother, or if it’s because it’s Betty. Girl-next-door Betty, 4.5 GPA Betty, perfectly pressed cardigan Betty, now in stilettos and silk, threatening to boil a man alive for her.

Then something happens. Veronica still doesn’t know what- it’s like a switch, and Betty really isn’t herself anymore, and it terrifies her. It concerns her greatly. 

It makes her groin clench again.

She watches, rooted, as Betty presses her heel down: she can see Chuck struggling to clear the haze in his head, his eyes flashing in fear, as water enters his system. When Betty refers to herself as Polly though, that is enough to shock her, enough to warn that it’s enough. 

“Stop. It’s over. We did it. You did it.”

Betty comes back to her, eyes slightly glazed. 

“I’m fine. We’re done here.”

Veronica watches in silence once again, because this is clearly something the other girl doesn’t want her help with. They lower the temperature, let Chuck go, and Ron stays on one side of the pool while Betty scrubs any remaining syrup away, removes their gear, does everything. It’s a calculated, precise frenzy. She’s never seen Betty been more Betty.

When it seems to have died down, when the last tile is dry and clean, she approaches her. “Hey,” and here she grasps at Betty’s wrist. “Let’s go home. Let’s walk you home.”

-

It turns out, home isn’t enough for her. She can’t sleep. She stays up writing everything. 

_Check your email_ , she texts Jughead.

A moment later, he appears on Google Docs, his icon winking at her. “Why are you up?” she types in the chat window.

“Why are you?”

She stares at her screen, her eyes leaden. She types, then backspaces. After a while, the chat window lets her know Jughead Jones has left. They don’t speak about anything else the rest of the night. He makes some edits, some suggestions; by dawn, they have something worth printing. Betty takes one more swig of coffee, then tries to remember what it feels like to have her head be silent.

-

Jughead catches them talking in low voices later that day, and it doesn’t take him long to figure out about what. He looks at them, their silhouettes, and thinks about light and dark. Betty and Veronica. Two sides of the same Janus coin.

Huh.

-

News of Weatherbee’s decision spreads, instantly. Knowing it’s a sacrificial lamb still makes it a sacrificial lamb, and the entire school watches the culprits be benched from the team. The affair is almost tragic: one of Cheryl's minions later dubs it a TMZ takedown. The flashes from camera phones are bright in their eyes, blinding and gleeful with victory.

Veronica looks at Betty the same time Betty looks at her, and decides that that is its own triumph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long, oh my god. These few weeks have been hectic, but you're not here to hear about that! I also took ages because I wanted to capture the B & V being forged in this, as canonically mentioned. So, some notes on this chapter and how they developed:
> 
> 1\. Chronology? I don't know her
> 
> 2\. It felt very important that Veronica win Alice over somewhat. (How else could you have gay fun times if she can't even come over?)
> 
> 3\. As you may have noticed, I rewrote bits of dialogue with regards to slut shaming: this episode had noble intentions, but severely fucked it up. So this fic is definitely a fix-it. Betty also has a different wig because her get-up (which already is rather whorephobic) comes to close to yellowface imo.
> 
> 4\. This, like previous chapters, are very much unbeta'd. I apologise for any mistakes whether spelling or plotty things.
> 
> As always, send me love/requests/concrit on isca-riot.tumblr.com/ask!


End file.
